Already Late

I crash into a sign and curse under my breath. ‘Beer as cold as your ex’s heart,’ it says. The text is barely legible in the pouring rain, and I chuckle. Not likely. I’m pretty sure they don’t serve beer that is frozen solid.

The wind blows off my hood, and I’m drenched instantly. No one should be out in this weather. The street is empty, proving my point. I read the sign again and then look at the building beside it. Warm light filters through the window, and I reach for the door before I have time to change my mind.

The first thing that hits me is the heat. There is an actual fire burning at the back of the room. The door muffles the sound of the rain; water pools around my feet and my sneakers slosh when I take a step forward.

“You can hang your coat by the fire,” someone says cheerily.

“Thanks,” I mumble and try to wipe my glasses dry so I can see.

“Terrible weather to be out and about.”

“Tell me about it,” I say, finally clearing my glasses enough to take her in. She is younger than me, peppy, and looks like she’s about to say more when I interrupt her.

“Can I sit in the booth at the back?”

“Sure,” she says, and then bends to pick up something behind the counter. “Here.”

It takes me a second to realize she’s holding out a towel.

“That bad, huh?”

She grins and nods. “And what will you have?” she calls after me when I settle down with my towel. I look around and there’s only one customer in the booth on the opposite side. A bottle of beer sits in front of him, and I shiver. I really don’t want beer as cold as Arturo’s heart.

“Tea?” I call back and stare at the fire. Soon a glass filled with amber liquid slides in front of me.

“Whiskey is on the house. You look like you need one,” she says smiling, and sets a cup of steaming tea next to the glass.

“Thanks.” I knock the shot back and make a face. Whiskey really is not my poison of choice, but this evening it seems fitting.

“Can I get another?” I hand her the empty glass. Her eyes sharpen and she looks me over. I must look pitiful enough because she nods and heads behind the counter.

I sip my tea slowly and enjoy the crackling flames. The whiskey warms me from the inside, and I relish the spark of rebellion that comes with it. To hell with everything, tonight I’m going to sit here and get drunk. Based on my spinning head, it won’t take much effort.

“Mind if I join you?” the man asks and slides into my booth with his beer. He blocks half of the fire, and I glare at him.

“Actually, I do mind.”

The bartender arrives with my second glass of whiskey and glances at the man before turning to me. “He’s harmless. Lacks manners and can annoy the hell out of you, though.”

“I’m Henry.” The man sticks out his hand and gives me a crooked smile. One of his front teeth is missing.

“And I’m not interested,” I reply, leaving his hand hang in the air as I sip my whiskey.

“Ouch,” he holds his chest and pretends to slump onto the table. “So, what makes a pretty woman like you go out in weather like this?”

He is annoying. Maybe it’s the day I’ve had, or maybe it’s the whiskey, but I tell him the truth.

“Death.”

“Mmmh, dark.” He gulps down his beer. “Tell me more.”

“Do you believe in curses?” He seems to take my question seriously and ponders for a while.

“I would not rule out the possibility.” His answer surprises me.

“Well then…” I sip more of the whiskey, “my family was cursed a long, long time ago.”

“Why?” He settles more into the chair and signals for another beer.

“Why?” I almost choke on my whiskey, and then stop to think. There were so many whys and how’s. A new glass of whiskey appears with his beer, and I stare at the empty glass in my hand before handing it over.

“Because every good legend needs a betrayal.”

“Sounds like a marvelous story for a rainy night. Let’s hear it.” For a moment, I debate getting up and leaving. For a moment, I see it as the folly it is. For a moment, I still have a chance… but then the words fall out of my mouth, echoing a memory etched so deep into my bones, I could never shake it.

“There once was a man who loved his wife very much. All good tales start like that, don’t they?” I sip my whiskey before continuing. “She loved him too, even if she sometimes wished for things by the blessed lake. Yearned for inconsequential baubles and riches that held no true value.

“She was vain enough to know her beauty rivaled no other. Some called her fairest of the land, they admired her raven hair, marveled at her striking blue eyes and lusted after her mouth, lush and red as summer berries.”

Henry snorts and eyes me up and down. I roll my eyes. Yes, I know I look a lot like the woman I’m describing, but no one is lusting after my lips or any other part of me as far as I know. 

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” I snap. The bartender hurries to answer.

“I do. Ignore him!”

I wait for a beat to see if Henry objects, but he mimics shutting his lips and throwing away the key, so I relent and continue. It almost feels good to say the words out loud.

“So, there was something about her. Men were drawn to her, she was the heart of their desire, an irresistible pull that made them wish and dream for things that did not belong to them. Whatever her power was, a gift or a curse, it had consequences.”

The room around me fades as the memory warbles and becomes misshapen, as it always does. I can never truly remember, but neither does the thing let me forget.

“Yet, no matter what, she loved her husband. They had their farm. She tented the land, and he was steady with his sword, his arrows found their aim, and so they lived in peace and saw no hunger.

“Once there was a man—a king, a commoner, a thief, a wizard, no one could say for certain—who had laid his eyes on her. He asked around and heard she was married, but still could not put her out of his mind. He grew obsessed, all thought consumed by her. She belonged to him. He claimed would give her the life she deserved.”

I bite my lip, trying to stop the torrent of words. Lies mixed with the truth, just enough to twist the tale. The words push past my lips. I can see the bartender absorbing every word I say, but Henry has a glint of suspicion in his eyes as I keep going.  

“You see, the wishes the lady whispered to the lake were not unheard, but she was not careful of what she wished for.

“That man tried to woo her, court her, but she kept telling him no. Eventually, he left her alone, though he was not done.”  

Desperately, I try to shake the fog. I need to remember. Remember. That’s the only word that keeps breaking the darkness creeping into my mind.

“He traveled far and scoured the deepest forests and long-forgotten paths until he came upon one who could help him. An agreement was made, he would become a king and the woman his queen.

“Soon there were rumors, reaching even the small village where the couple lived. A new king would rise; he would have ancient blessings on his side, and a sword that no enemy could fight. The king would lead his people to reclaim their land, protect them, and win the ongoing war.

“And so when one summer day a king rode into the village, he did not send for the woman, he sent for her husband. Steady in the face of danger, skilled in arms. A man worthy of serving the king. A knight to lead armies.

“Oh, he had a wife? Surely, she would be more comfortable in the king’s own castle. She would be safe, would see no hunger. He would guard her as his own. And the husband, good and honorable man as he was, agreed.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Henry shakes his head. “That’s not how the story goes.”

I set my glass on the table and prepare to go, but the bartender cuts in.

“Shut up, Henry,” she says with a frown. “You wanted a story, let her tell it.”

“But—” Henry sulks and pouts.

“No buts, either be quiet or leave. I want to hear the rest.”

Henry snaps his mouth shut, but I had already lost my will to continue.

“I’d better get going anyway,” I say, pushing myself up. Thunder still cracks outside, but I can already feel my little window for respite closing, so I pull on my coat and fish for the payment. The woman waves her hand.

“No need for that. I’ll put it on Henry’s tab since he ruined a good story,” she says, and the man deems it wiser not to protest.

I pull out whatever coins I have at the bottom of my pocket and place them on the table.

“Tip,” I say, before she has time to protest. I take one last look at the pub, bathing in the firelight, and steel myself.

The rain is even worse when I step outside and close the door behind me. The sign has completely washed off, and I hurry down the street. I’m already late for my meeting, and Death is not known for her patience.

Besides, some stories are better left untold.